The Notebook - A Brittana Story
by you me and brittana
Summary: A Brittana story based on the awesome novel The Notebook :) (The Whole book/Story) its pretty much the same story as The Notebook, but with brittana ofc :)
1. Chapter 1 - MIRACLES

**CHAPTER ONE - MIRACLES**

You probably wonder why I`m telling you this story. Well I`m doing it because you don`t know what real love is till you`ve heard this story – my story. And all you people need to know what true love really is! Without love we are nothing.

My life? It isn't easy to explain. I was born somewhere in the United States around 1905. I won`t mention the name of the town I was born in, just because it isn`t very important for the story.

On the outside I look like a common woman, with common thoughts, and if you don`t know me, it probably looks like I`ve led a common life. There are no monuments dedicated to me, and my name will soon be forgotten. But the one thing that makes my life, my story, so special is that I`ve loved another with all my heart! Despite what people said, I still loved her with my heart and soul, and to me this has always been enough to never give her up!

The romantics out there would call this a love story: the cynics would call it a tragedy. In my mind it's a little bit of both, and no matter how you choose to view it in the end, it does not change the fact that it involves a great deal of my life. I have no complaints about the path I've chosen to follow and the places it has taken me—the path has always been the right one. I wouldn't have had it any other way.

Time, unfortunately doesn't make it easy to stay on course. The path is straight as ever and should be easy to follow, and it was until a couple of years ago. Until then all the bad stuff have been easy to ignore, but it's impossible now. I`m sick. I`m old and I`m sick, and my days are spent like an old party balloon: lifeless, spongy and growing softer every day.

As I looked down at my watch I realized it was time to go. I bent down to pick up the notebook that had fallen down on the floor by accident, and walked to the door. The hallway was completely empty, not that I cared. The fewer people that saw me, the fewer questions I would get.

As I came closer to my destination I heard the muffled sounds of crying, and I knew right away who was making them. A nurse came out of the room and smiled a tired smile. I gave her a smile in return as I passed her. "There she goes again." I heard the nurse say to herself. "I hope it turns out well."

A minute later I reached my final destination: room 1001. The door had been opened for me, as it usually was. There were two nurses in the room, and as I entered they said a quick "Good morning".

After the nurses had gone out, I sat down in the chair next to a tall, slim Latina. She just looked down at her hands like she hadn`t noticed my present, but I knew she had. She had her clothes on; the morning routine always upset her, and today was no exception

I sat for just a second and stared at her, but she still didn`t return my look. I understood why. She didn`t know who I was. I was a stranger to her. I was ready. I put on my glasses and opened the notebook I had read so many times before.

There was always a moment right before I began to read the story when my mind churned, and I wondered: "will it happen today?" I never knew beforehand, and deep down it actually didn`t matter. The possibility of maybe getting it all back for maybe just a few minutes was enough to keep me going. And though you may call me a dreamer or a fool for thinking like this, I believe that anything is possible.

I realized many years ago that the odds and the science were against me. But science is not always the answer. Questions of science does not speak as loud as my heart, and if there was one thing I`ve learned in my life time it was that miracles truly do exist! So I`m always going to keep trying until the day I die. So I did like I did every day, I began to read the notebook aloud, so that she can hear it, in the hope that the miracle that has come to dominate my life will once again show up.

And maybe, just maybe, it will.


	2. Chapter 2 - GHOSTS

Hey guys, I just wanted to thank for the reviews its means a lot, so thanks ;)

Here is chapter 2, its kinda long butttt, hope you`ll like it (and nuuu I do not own The Notebook, nor do I own Brittana or Glee) ;)

**CHAPTER TWO - GHOSTS**

It was early October 1935, and Brittany S. Pierce watched the fading sun sink lower and lower from the porch of her house. She liked to sit here in the evenings, especially after working hard all day.

She liked to look at the trees and their reflections in the river. North Carolina trees are the most beautiful trees in the world: green, yellow, red, orange and every shade in between.

The house she lived in was built in 1770, making it one of the oldest, but also the largest homes in the small town. It was originally the main house to a working plantation, and she had bought it right after the war. She had ended up spending the last eleven months and a small fortune repairing it, but it was worth it.

She did this every day, even in the winter. The same routine: She poured herself a cup of tea, and sat down at the porch, where she sat for an hour or so. Sometimes more, and sometimes less.

She reached for her guitar, remembering her father as she did. She smiled a sad smile. She missed him so much. Brittany strummed once, adjusted the tension on two strings, and then strummed again. She hummed at first, and then began to sing as night came down around her. The song she sang was a song that had brought her so much pain, but at the same times so much love.

It was a little after eight when she stopped. It was getting a bit chilly, so she stopped playing and settled back into her rocking chair. By habit, she looked upwards and saw Orion twinkling in the autumn sky.

She started to run the numbers in her head, then stopped. She knew she'd spent almost her entire savings on the house and would have to find a job again soon, but she pushed the thought away and decided to just enjoy the perfect evening. It would work out for her, it always did.

Nay, her hound dog, came up to her and licked her hand before lying down at her feet. "Hey girl, how're you doing?" She asked as she patted her head. She made a purring sound, almost like a cat, and closed her eyes.

She was thirty now, not too old, but old enough to be lonely. She hadn't dated since she came back here, hadn't met anyone who interested her, It was her own fault, she knew that. But how was she supposed to find another one like her in a small town like this? There was something that kept a distance between her and any man who started to get close, and the fact that she refused to even look at a girl in the same way she had before didn`t help much. She had stopped doing that after the love of her life left. Maybe, she thought to herself, she was destined to be alone forever.

The evening passed. Brittany listened to the crickets and the rustling leaves. Natural things gave back more than they took, and their sounds always brought her back to the good old days as a kid and when her dad was still alive.

She finished her tea, went inside, found a book, then turned on the porch light on her way back out. After sitting down again, she looked at the book. It was old, the cover was torn, and the pages were stained with mud and water. It was Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman. It was her favorite book. She opened the book and read the words in front of her:

This is thy hour, O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,

Away from hooks, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,

Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes

thou lovest best,

Night, sleep, death and the stars.

She smiled to herself. For some reason Whitman always reminded her of her town, and she was glad she had come back. Though she'd been away for a while this was her home and she knew a lot of people here, most of them from her childhood. It wasn't surprising. Like so many southern towns, the people who lived here never changed, they just grew a bit older.

Her best friend these days was Quinn, a seventy-year-old woman who lived down the road. They had met a couple of weeks after Brittany had bought the house, when Quinn had shown up with some homemade liquor and a weird pie Brittany had never seen or tasted before. They had spent their first evening together getting drunk and telling stories.

Now Quinn showed up a couple of nights a week, usually around nine. With four kids and eleven grandchildren in the house, she needed to get out from time to time. Brittany couldn't blame her.

Usually Quinn would bring her harmonica and, after talking for a little while, they'd play a few songs together. They always played the same song. They had kind of become 'their songs'. Quinn was the closed she had to a family. There really wasn't anyone else, at least not since her father died last year. She was an only child and her mother had died of influenza when she was two. And though she had wanted to at one time, she had never married.

But she had been in love once, that she knew! Once and only once, and a long time ago. And it had changed her forever. It had been perfect, and she would pay anything to go back to the times when her life was filled with love.

Clouds slowly began to roll across the evening sky, turning the already dark sky even darker. She leaned her head back against the rocking chair. Her legs moved automatically, keeping a steady rhythm, and she felt her mind drifting back to a chilly evening like this twelve years ago:

It was just after graduation in 1923, the opening night of the River Festival. The town was full of people, enjoying barbecues and games. She had arrived alone, and as she walked through the crowd, looking for friends, she saw Finn and Rachel, two people she'd grown up with. They were talking to a girl she'd never seen before. She was pretty, she remembered thinking, and when she finally joined them, she looked her way with a pair of beautiful chocolate-brown eyes.

"Hey," she'd said simply as she offered her hand. "Finn has told me a lot about you." An ordinary beginning, something that would have been forgotten had it been anyone but her. But as Brittany shook her hand and met those striking brown eyes, Brittany knew before she'd taken her next breath that she was the one she could spend the rest of her life looking for, but never find again. She seemed that good, that perfect.

She had accepted the fact that she liked girls the way she was supposed to feel about boys. It was something that had always been inside of her, and she couldn`t fight it. She had never been in a relationship with a girl, she wanted to wait until she found the perfect one.

She came out to her dad a couple of months ago. She was terrified that he would get mad or throw her out, but he just hugged her and told her that he would always love her. Her best friends, Finn and Rachel took it the same way.

From there, it went like a tornado. Finn told Brittany that the girl was spending the summer here with her family, because her father worked for a tobacco company. She only nodded. The way the Latina was looking at her made her silence seem okay. Finn laughed, because he knew what was happening, and Rachel suggested they`d get some cherry cokes, and the four of them stayed at the festival until the crowds were thin and everything closed up for the night.

They met the following day, and the day after that, and they soon became inseparable, every morning, except Sunday when she had to go to church. She would finish her chores as quickly as possible, then run down to the Park, where she'd be waiting for her. Because she was a newcomer and hadn't lived in a small town before, they spent their days doing things Brittany had done since she was a little girl, but were completely new to the Latina. She taught her how to bait a line and fish and took her exploring through the backwoods of the Summer Forest. They rode in canoes and watched summer thunderstorms, and it seemed as though they'd always known each other.

But Brittany learned things as well. At the town dance in the barn, it was she who taught Brittany how to waltz and do the Charleston, and though they stumbled through the first few songs, her patience with her eventually paid off, and they danced together until the music ended. She walked her home afterwards, and when they paused on the porch after saying good night, Brittany kissed her for the first time and wondered why she had waited so long.

Brittany had soon found out that the beautiful, young Latina was just like her. She liked girls too. Brittany admired her for being so open about it. She did of course not go around and talk about it to everyone, just the people closest to her, she had told her, with the big exception of her parents. They had no clue. She liked it that way, she had told Brittany late one night when they were out stargazing.

Later in the summer Brittany had brought her to this house, looked past the decay, and told her that one day she was going to buy it and fix it up. They spent hours together talking about their dreams— Brittanys of seeing the world, and hers of being an artist. And on a wonderful, warm night in August they both lost their virginity. When she left three weeks later, she took a piece of Brittany and the rest of summer with her.

She watched her leave town on an early, rainy morning, watched through eyes that hadn't slept the night before, then went home and for the first time she allowed herself to cry.

Brittany checked her watch. Twelve minutes past nine. She got up and walked to the front of the house and looked up the road. Quinn wasn't in sight, and Brittany figured she wouldn't be coming. She went back to her rocker and sat again.

She remembered talking to Quinn about her. The first time she mentioned her Quinn started to shake her head and laugh. "So that's the ghost you been runnin' from!" When she asked what she meant, Quinn answered "You know, the ghost, the memory! I`ve been watchin' you workin' day and night, slavin' so hard you barely have time to catch your breath. People do that for three reasons: Either they`re crazy, stupid, or tryin' to forget. And with you, I knew you was tryin' to forget. I just didn't know what."

Quinn was right, of course. The town was haunted now, haunted by the ghost of her memory. She saw her in the Park, their place, where she used to wait for her, every time she walked by. When she sat on the porch at night with her guitar, she saw her beside her, listening as she played their song. Everywhere she looked, she saw things that brought her back to life.

Brittany shook her head, and when her image began to fade, she returned to her book. She read for an hour, looking up every now and then to look at the stars and wonder where she was right now.

At ten thirty she closed the book, went upstairs to the bedroom and wrote in her journal. Forty minutes later she was sleeping. Nay wandered up the stairs, jumped onto the bed and paced in circles before finally curling up at the foot of her bed.

Earlier that evening and a hundred miles away, another girl sat alone on the porch swing of her parents' home, one leg tucked beneath her, wondering if she'd made the right decision. She'd struggled with it for days—and had struggled some more this evening—but in the end she knew she would never forgive herself if she let the opportunity slip away.

Puck didn't know the real reason she left the following morning. The week before, she'd hinted to him that she might want to visit some antique shops near the coast. "It's just a couple of days," she said, "and besides, I need a break from planning the wedding." She felt bad about the lie, but knew there was no way she could tell him the truth. Her leaving had nothing to do with him, and it wouldn't be fair of her to ask him to understand.

It was an easy drive from where she was, slightly more than two hours, and she arrived a little before eleven. She checked into a small Inn downtown, went to her room and unpacked her suitcase, hanging her dresses in the closet and putting everything else in the drawers. She had a quick lunch, asked the waitress for directions to the nearest antique stores, and spent the next few hours shopping. By four thirty she was back in her room.

She sat on the edge of the bed, picked up the phone and called Puck. He couldn't speak long, but before they hung up she gave him the phone number to where she was staying and promised to call the next day. Good, she thought while hanging up the phone. Routine conversation, nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to make him suspicious.

She'd known Puck for almost four years now. She had met him at the hospital where she was volunteering as a nurse. The first waves of wounded young soldiers were coming home, and she spent her days helping the poor boys, when Puck, with his easy charm, introduced himself. She saw in him exactly what she needed: someone with confidence about the future and a sense of humor that drove all her fears away. Well, that wasn`t completely true. She knew what she wanted, and who, but she had to pick Puck. Not only was it the easiest, but it would also make her parents proud and happy.

He was handsome, intelligent and a successful lawyer. He was eight years older than she, and he pursued his job with passion, not only winning cases but also making a name for himself. She understood why he put so much effort in his work, for her father and most of the men she met in her social circle were the same way. Like them, he'd been raised that way. And in the caste system of the South, family names and accomplishments were often the most important thing in a marriage. In some cases they were the only consideration.

Though she had hated this idea since childhood and had dated a few men ( best described as reckless), she found herself drawn to Puck`s easy ways and had gradually come to love him. Despite the long hours he worked, he was good to her. He was a gentleman, he was mature and responsible, and during those terrible periods of the war when she needed someone to hold her, he never turned her away. She felt secure with him and knew he loved her as well and that was why she had accepted his proposal. She loved him, but she wasn`_t in love _with him. Her heart belonged to another person far, far away.

Thinking like this made her feel guilty about being here, and she knew she should pack her things and leave before she changed her mind. She picked up her handbag, hesitated and almost made it to the door. But something had pushed her here, she put the bag down, again realizing that if she quit now she would always wonder what would have happened. She couldn't live with that.

She went to the bathroom and started tapping water in the tub. After checking the temperature she walked to the drawers in the bedroom, taking off her earrings. As she crossed the room, she found her toiletry bag, opened it and pulled out a razor and a bar of soap. She then undressed. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her body was firm and well proportioned, breasts softly rounded, stomach flat, legs slim. She had her mother's high cheekbones, smooth skin and dark hair, but her best feature was her own. She had "eyes like chocolate " as Puck liked to say. Taking the razor and soap, she went to the bathroom again, turned off the tap, and stepped into the bath.

She liked the way a bath relaxed her, and she slipped lower in the water. The day had been long and her back was tense, but she was happy she had finished shopping so quickly. She had to go back to Puck with at least something, and the things she had picked out would work fine. She made a mental note to find the names of some other stores in the area, but she doubted she would need it. Puck wasn't the type to check up on her.

She reached for the soap and began to shave her legs. As she did, she thought about her parents and what they would think of her behavior. No doubt they would hate it, especially her mother. Her mother had never really known what had happened the summer they'd spent here, but Santana had no plans on telling her.

She stayed a while longer in the bath before finally getting out. She went to the closet and looked for a dress, finally choosing a long red one that dipped slightly in the front, the kind that was common here in the South. She slipped it on and looked in the mirror, turning from side to side. It fitted her well, but she eventually decided against it and put it back on the hanger. Instead she found a more casual, less revealing dress and put that on. Light blue and it buttoned up at the front.

She wore little make-up, just a touch of eye shadow and mascara. Perfume next, not too much. She found a pair of small hooped earrings, and put on some sandals. She brushed her long, dark hair, pinned it up and took a look in the mirror. No, it was too much, she thought, and she let it back down. Better.

When she was finished, she stepped back and looked at herself. She looked good: not too dressy, not too casual. She didn't want to overdo it. After all, she didn't know what to expect. It had been a long time—probably too long—and many different things could have happened, even things she didn't want to consider.

She looked down and saw her hands were shaking, and she laughed to herself. It was strange; she wasn't normally this nervous. But then again, the love of her life had always made her a little bit nervous.

She found her handbag and car keys, and picked up the room key. She turned it over in her hand a couple of times, thinking - You've come this far, don't give up now. She nearly left, but instead she sat down on the bed again. She checked her watch. Almost six o'clock. She knew she had to leave in a few minutes—she didn't want to arrive after dark—but she needed a little more time.

"Damn," she whispered. "What am I doing here? I shouldn't be here. There's no reason for it." But once she said it she knew it wasn't true. If nothing else, she would have her answer. She opened her handbag and thumbed through it until she came to a folded-up piece of newspaper. After taking it out slowly, almost reverently, she unfolded it and stared at it for a while. "This is why," she said to herself, "this is what it's all about."

Brittany got up at five in the morning and kayaked for an hour or so, like she usually did. When she finished she changed into her work clothes, warmed some bread rolls from the day before, grabbed a couple of apples and washed her breakfast down with two cups of coffee.

She worked on the fence, repairing the posts. It was a very hot day, the temperature was over eighty degrees, and by lunchtime she was hot, tired and happy she could finally take a break.

She stopped working a little after three and walked to a small shed that where near her dock. She went in and found her fishing pole. She walked out to the dock, baited her hook and cast her line.

Fishing always made her reflect on her life, and this fishing-day was no exception. After her mother died she could remember spending her days in a dozen different homes. For one reason or another, she stuttered badly as a kid and was teased for it. She began to speak less and less, and by the age of five she wouldn't speak at all. At school her teachers thought she was retarded or just stupid and recommended that she`d be pulled out of school.

Instead, her father kept her in school and afterwards made her come to the timber yard where he worked, to haul and stack wood. "It's good that we spend some time together," he would say as they worked side-by-side, "just like my daddy and I did." That was maybe one of the main reasons Brittany didn`t act like the stupid girly girls and actually worked.

Her father would talk about animals or tell stories and legends. Within a few months Brittany was speaking again, but to help her even more, her father decided to teach her to read poetry. "Learn to read this aloud and you'll be able to say anything you want to."

Her father had been right again, and by the end of the year Brittany had lost her stutter. But she continued to go to the timber yard every day simply because her father was there, and in the evenings she would read the works of Whitman and Tennyson aloud as her father sat beside her. She had been reading poetry ever since.

On her way to the house she hadn`t seen in years, Santana tried to Imagine how Brittany would look like. Brittany was two years older than she was, but she had always looked older than she really was. She was tall and strong, with long, blonde hair, and she was beautiful in her own way, but it was her voice that she remembered most of all. Brittany had read to her that day as they lay beneath the tree with an accent that was soft and fluent. She remembered closing her eyes, listening closely and letting the words she was reading touch her soul.

She scanned through old books with dog-eared pages, books she had read a hundred times before. She'd read for a while, then stop, and the two of them would talk. She would tell her what she wanted in her life—her hopes and dreams for the future—and Brittany would listen carefully and then promise to make it all come true. And the way she said it made her believe her, and she knew then how much Brittany meant to her.

Another turn in the road and she finally saw the house in the distance. It had changed dramatically from what she remembered. She slowed the car and took a deep breath when she saw Brittany on the porch, watching her car. She was dressed casually. From a distance, she looked the same as she had back then. She was still the most beautiful person in the world.

Her car continued forward slowly, then finally came to a stop beneath an oak tree that shaded the front of the house. She turned the key, never taking her eyes from her. Brittany stepped off the porch and began to approach her, walking easily, then suddenly stopped as Santana emerged from the car. For a long time all they could do was stare at each other without moving.

Next chapter will be up asap ;) (like tomorrow or something like that )


	3. Chapter 3 - REUNION

So here`s the next chapter _**don`t forget to review, its helps me A LOT! :D**_ aaaanywaysss hope you`ll enjoy it :D (Still don`t own The Notebook or Brittana…wish I did….but I don`t)

**Oh, and thanks to the person ( "Guest") who told me about the**_** little mistake**_** (When santana`s in the bathroom) (I`ve fixed it) its just that I`ve read The Notebook like 10000 times, and I kinda "know it by heart" (I don`t ofc know the whole book by heart - but you get it) so I often forget that I`m actually writing another story and I start to describe the real characters. So I`m really sorry about that!**

**CHAPTER THREE - REUNION**

Neither one of them moved as they faced each other. She hadn't said anything, and for a second Santana thought she didn't recognize her. Suddenly she felt guilty about showing up this way, without warning, and it made it harder. She had thought that she would know what to say. But she didn't. Everything that came into her head seemed inappropriate or wrong.

As she stared at her, she noticed how little Brittany had actually changed since she had last seen her. She looked good, she thought, with her shirt tucked loosely into her old jeans. She had the same slim figure she`d had the last time she saw her. She was tanner, too, as if she had worked outside all summer, and, though her hair was a little thinner than she remembered, she looked the same as she had when she'd known her last.

She took a deep breath and smiled. "Hello, Brittany. It's good to see you again." She looked at her with amazement in her eyes. Then, after shaking her head slightly, she began to smile. "You too," she stammered before she continued. "It's really you, isn't it? I can't believe it…"

She heard the shock in her voice as she spoke. It all came together—being here, seeing him. She felt something twitch inside, something deep and old, something that made her dizzy for just a second. She caught herself fighting for control. She hadn't expected this to happen, didn't want it to happen. She was engaged now. She hadn't come here for this, yet…Yet the feeling went on despite herself, and for a brief moment she felt young again. She hadn't had that feeling in years. The wonderful feeling of being young: as if all her dreams could still come true. Felt as though she'd finally come home.

Without another word they ran towards each other, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Brittany put her arms around Santana, holding her close. Brittany hadn`t been this happy in years. "Oh Tana, I can`t believe you`re here!" "Britt Britt, I`ve missed you so much!" Santana tried to hold back the tears.

They stayed like that for a long time before Santana finally pulled back to look at her. Up close, she could see the changes she hadn't noticed at first. Her face had lost the softness it used to have. The faint lines around her eyes had deepened. There was a new edge to her; she seemed less innocent, more cautious, and yet the way she was holding her made her realize how much she'd missed her.

Santana`s eyes brimmed with tears as they finally released each other. She laughed nervously while wiping the corners of her eyes. "Are you okay?" she asked, a thousand other questions on her face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cry." "It's okay," she said, smiling. "I still can't believe it's you. How did you find me?" Santana stepped back, trying to compose herself, wiping away the last of her tears. "I saw a story on the house in the newspaper a couple of weeks ago, and I had to come and see you again." Brittany smiled broadly. "I'm glad you did." She stepped back. "You look fantastic. You're even prettier now than you were then." She felt the blood in her face. Just like all those years ago. "Thank you. You look great, too." And she did, no doubt about it.

"So what have you been up to? Why are you here?" Her questions brought Santana back to the present, making her realize what could happen if she wasn't careful. Don't let this get out of hand, she told herself; the longer it goes on, the harder it's going to be. And she didn't want it to get any harder.

She turned away and took a deep breath, wondering how to say it, and when she finally started, her voice was quiet. "Brittany, before you get the wrong idea, I did want to see you again, but there's more to it than just that." She paused for a second. "I came here for a reason. There's something I have to tell you." "What is it?" She looked away and didn't answer for a moment, surprised that she couldn't tell her just yet. In the silence, Brittany felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Whatever it was, it was bad.

"I don't know how to say it. I thought I did at first, but now I'm not so sure." Suddenly a big dog came out from under the porch, barking gruffly at a rabbit a couple of meters away. Both of them turned at the commotion, and Santana was glad for the distraction.

"Is he yours?" she asked. Brittany nodded, feeling the tightness in her stomach. "Actually it's a she. Her name is Naya, but I just call her Nay. But yeah, she's all mine." They both watched as Nay stretched, then wandered towards where the rabbit had been before it ran off.

They watched Nay for a couple of minutes before Santana decided she had to find something to talk about. "You did a wonderful job restoring it. It looks perfect, just like I knew it would some day." She turned her head in the same direction as hers while she wondered about the small talk and what she was holding back. "Thanks, that's nice of you. It was quite a project, though. I don't know if I would do it again." "Of course you would," she said. She knew exactly how she felt about this place. But then she knew how she felt about everything— or at least she had a long time ago. And with that she realized they were strangers now. All those years apart were a long time. Too long.

"What is it, Sanny?" Brittany turned to her, but she continued to stare at the house. "I'm being rather silly, aren't I?" she asked, trying to smile. "What do you mean?" "This whole thing: Showing up out of the blue, not knowing what I want to say. You must think I'm crazy!" "You're not crazy," she said gently. She reached for her hand, and she let her hold it as they stood next to one another. She went on: "Even though I don't know why, I can see this is hard for you. Why don't we go for a walk?" "Like we used to?" Santana smiled. "Why not, I think we both could use one." She hesitated and looked to her front door. "Do you need to tell anyone?" She shook her head. "There's no one to tell. It's just me and Nay."

The rest of C.3 will be up tomorrow


	4. Chapter 3 - REUNION (part II)

Thank you so much for the reviews, got some really good advices, so thanks

Here`s the second part of chapter 3 enjoy!

* * *

Even though Santana had asked, she had suspected there wouldn't be anyone else. She didn't know how to feel about that. It did the whole thing much harder. It would have been so much easier if there was someone else.

They walked towards the river. Santana let go of Brittany`s hand, and continued walking with just enough distance between them so that they couldn't accidentally touch.

Brittany looked at her. Santana was still pretty, with thick hair and soft eyes, and she moved so gracefully that it seemed as though she were gliding. Brittany had seen beautiful women before, women who caught her eye, but to her they usually lacked the qualities she found most desirable. Qualities like intelligence, confidence and passion. Qualities that inspired other people.

Santana had those qualities. There hadn`t been a day where she hadn`t thought about the beautiful Latina. Where she was, how she was doing…

"How long have you been back here?" Santana asked as they came to the river. "A while, I`ve been many places since last we spoke." Santana looked at her with questions in her eyes. "You volunteered as a nurse?" she guessed. Brittany nodded and Santana went on. "I thought you might. You`ve always cared about other people." "Mmmh." was all she answered. "Are you glad to be back home?" Santana asked. She just wanted to her Brittany`s voice as much as possible. She had missed it more than anything. "Yeah. My roots are here. This is where I'm supposed to be." Brittany paused. "But what about you?" She asked the question softly, as if she was suspecting the worst…she was.

It was a long moment before Santana answered. "I'm engaged." Brittany looked down when she said it, suddenly feeling just a bit weaker. So that was it. That's what she needed to tell her.

"Congratulations," Brittany finally said, wondering how convincing she sounded. "When's the big day?" "Three weeks. Puck wanted a November wedding." "Puck? That`s a weird name." Brittany had never heard the name before. "His real name is Noah Alexander Puckerman Junior. My fiancé" Brittany nodded.

The Puckerman family were one of the most powerful and important families in the state. Cotton money. Unlike her own father, the death of Noah Puckerman Senior had made the front page of the newspaper.

"I've heard of them. His father built quite a business. Did…um Puck take over for him?" Santana shook her head. "No, he's a lawyer. He has his own business." "With his name, he must be busy." Brittany said as she looked up on the sky to avoid Santana`s eyes. "He is," Santana answered. "He works a lot."

Brittany thought she heard something in her tone, and the next question came automatically. "Does he treat you well?" Santana didn't answer right away, as if she were considering the question for the first time, then she answered: "Yes. He's a good man, Brittany. You'd like him." "I doubt that." Brittany answered, but not loud enough for Santana to hear.

"How's your daddy doing?" Santana asked to change the subject. Brittany took a couple of steps before answering. "He is dead." "I'm sorry," she said softly. Brittany nodded, and they continued to walk in silence.

They had reached a familiar field and stopped. The oak tree was in the distance, with the sun glowing behind it. Santana could feel Brittany`s eyes on her as she stared in the direction of the tree.

"A lot of memories there." Brittany smiled. "I know. I saw it when I came in. Do you remember the day we spent there?" "Yes," Brittany answered. "Do you ever think about it?" Santana asked carefully. "Sometimes," Brittany answered. "Usually when I'm working in this area. It`s on my property now." "You bought it?" Santana asked. "Yeah, I just couldn't bear to see it turned into kitchen cabinets." Santana laughed under her breath, feeling strangely satisfied about that.

"Do you still read poetry?" Santana asked, Brittany nodded. "Yeah, I never stopped. I guess it's in my blood." Brittany said with a shrug. "You know, you're the only poet I've ever met." Santana said with a smile. "I'm no poet," Brittany snorted, "I read, but I can't write a verse. I've tried." "You're still a poet, Brittany Susan Pierce." Santana`s voice softened. "I still think about it a lot. It was the first time anyone ever read poetry to me. In fact, it's the only time." She looked up at Brittany. Her comment made both of them drift back and remember as they slowly circled back to the house, following a new path that passed near the dock.

As the sun dropped a little lower and the sky turned pink, Brittany asked: "So, how long are you staying?" "I don't know. Not long. Maybe until tomorrow or the day after that." "Is your fiancé here on business?" Brittany asked curious. Santana shook her head. "No, he is at home." Brittany raised her eyebrows. "Does he know you're here?" Santana shook her head again and answered slowly. "No. I told him I was looking for antiques. He wouldn't understand…" Brittany was a little surprised. It was one thing to come and visit, but it was an entirely different thing to hide the truth from her fiancé. The rocks crunched beneath their feet as they walked. Brittany asked the question that had been in her head since she heard that Santana was engaged: "Santana, do you love him?" Santana answered automatically. "Yes, I love him."

The words hurt. But again Brittany thought she heard something in Santana's tone, as if she were saying it to convince herself. Brittany stopped and gently took her shoulders in her hands, making Santana face her. The fading sunlight reflected in her brown eyes as Brittany spoke. "If you're happy, Santana, and you love him. I won't try to stop you from going back to him. But if there's a part of you that isn't sure, then don't do it. This isn't the kind of thing you go into halfway."

Her answer came almost too quickly. "I'm making the right decision, Brittany!" Brittany stared for a second, wondering if she believed her. Then she nodded and they began to walk again. "I'm not making this easy for you, am I?" Brittany asked. Santana smiled a little. "It's okay. I really can't blame you." "I'm sorry anyway." Brittany said in a sad voice. "Don't be!" Santana said quickly, there's no reason to be sorry, Brittany."

Brittany smiled. "I'm glad you came. It's good to see you again. You were the best friend I ever had, Santana. I'd still like to be friends, even if you are engaged, and even if it is just for a couple of days. How about we just kind of get to know each other again?" Santana thought about it, and decided that since Brittany knew about her engagement, it would probably be all right. Or at least not wrong.

She smiled slightly and nodded. "I'd like that." Brittany smiled. "Good. How about dinner? I know a place that serves the best crab in town." "Sounds great, where?" Santana asked. Brittany smiled and laughed a little before she answered: "My house. I've had the traps out all week, and I saw that I had some good ones caged a couple of days ago. Do you mind?" "No, that sounds fine." Santana answered and smiled in return. Brittany smiled even more and pointed over her shoulder with her thumb. "Great. They're at the dock. I'll just be a couple of minutes."

Santana watched her walk away and noticed the tension she'd felt when telling her about her engagement beginning to fade. Closing her eyes, she ran her hands through her hair. She took a deep breath and held it for a moment, feeling the muscles in her shoulders relax as she exhaled. Finally, opening her eyes, she stared at the beauty that surrounded her. She always loved evenings like this, when the faint smell of autumn leaves rode on soft southern winds. She loved the trees and the sounds they made. Listening to them helped her relax even more. After a moment, she turned towards the dock and looked at Brittany.

God, she was beautiful. Even after all this time. She watched her as she reached for a rope that hung in the water. She began to pull it, and despite the darkening sky she saw the muscles in her arm flex as she lifted the cage from the water. She let it hang over the river for a moment and shook it, letting most of the water escape. After setting the trap on the dock, she opened it and began to remove the crabs one by one, placing them into a bucket.

Santana looked around and realized she had forgotten how beautiful everything seemed here. Over her shoulder, as she walked over to join Brittany, she saw that Brittany had left a couple of lights on in the house. It seemed to be the only house around.

She stepped on the dock and it creaked under her foot. The sound reminded her of a rusty squeezebox. Brittany glanced up, then went back to checking the crabs, making sure they were the right size. Santana walked to the rocker that sat on the dock and touched it, running her hand along the back. She could picture Brittany sitting in it, fishing, thinking, reading. It was old and weather-beaten, rough feeling. She wondered how much time Brittany spent here alone, and about her thoughts at times like those.

An 'urge' had driven her here, and for the first time in three weeks the feeling was gone. She'd needed Brittany to know about her engagement, to understand, to accept it—she was sure of that now. While thinking of Brittany, she was reminded of something they shared the summer they were together. With her head down, she paced around slowly until she found it—the carving. 'Britt loves San', in a heart. Carved into the dock a few days before she'd left.

A breeze broke the stillness and chilled her, making Santana cross her arms. She stood that way, looking down at the caning and then towards the river, until she heard Brittany reach her side. She could feel her closeness, her warmth.

"It's so peaceful here," Santana said, her voice dreamlike. "I know," Brittany answered, "I come down here a lot now just to be close to the water. It makes me feel good. Come on, let's go, I`m starving."

The sky had turned black and they started to walk towards the house. In the silence Santana's mind wandered and she felt a little light-headed. She wondered what Brittany was thinking about her being here, and wasn't exactly sure if she knew herself. When they reached the house a couple of minutes later, Nay greeted them on the back porch.

Brittany set the bucket by the door and led the way inside to the kitchen. It was on the right, large and smelling of new wood. The cabinets had been done in oak, like the floor, and the windows were large and faced east. It was a tasteful and nice.

"Do you mind if I look around?" Santana asked. "No, go ahead. I did some shopping earlier and I still have to put the groceries away." Brittany smiled.

Santana looked around in the house for the next few minutes, walking through the rooms, noticing how wonderful it looked. She came down the stairs, turned towards the kitchen, and saw Brittany`s profile. For a second she looked like the young girl she once was, and it made her pause a second before going on. "Damn", she thought, "Get a hold of yourself! Remember that you're engaged now!"

Brittany was standing by the counter; a couple of cabinet doors open wide, empty grocery bags on the floor, whistling quietly. "It's unbelievable, Brittany. How long did the restoration take?" She looked up from the last bag she was unpacking. "Almost a year." "Did you do it all yourself?" Brittany laughed. "No. I always thought I would when I was young, and I started that way. But it was just too much. It would have taken years, and so I ended up hiring some people . . . actually a lot of people. But even with them it was still a lot of work, and most of the time I didn't stop until past midnight." "Why'd you work so hard?" Santana asked curiously. _Ghosts, she wanted to say, but didn't_.

"I don't know. Just wanted to finish, I guess. Do you want anything to drink before I start dinner?" Brittany asked to change the subject as fast as possible. "What do you have?" "Not much, really. Beer, beer, more beer….oh and tea and coffee!" Santana laughed. "Tea sounds good."

Brittany gathered the grocery bags and put them away, then walked to a small room off the kitchen before returning with a box of tea. She pulled out a couple of tea bags and put them by the stove, then filled the teapot. "It'll be just a minute," Brittany said, "This stove heats up pretty quick." "That's fine." Santana smiled.

When the teapot whistled, she poured two cups and handed one to her. She smiled and took a sip.

"I'm going to get the crabs in to marinate for a few minutes before I steam 'em," Brittany said, putting her cup on the counter. She went to the cupboard and removed a large pot with a steamer and lid. She brought the pot to the sink, added water and then carried it to the stove. "Can I give you a hand with something?" Santana asked. Brittany answered over her shoulder: "Sure, how about cutting up some vegetables to fry. There's plenty in the fridge, and you can find a bowl over there." Brittany motioned to the cabinet near the sink. Santana took another sip of tea before setting her cup on the counter and took the bowl. She carried it to the freezer and found some onions, carrots and some other different vegetables on the bottom shelf. Brittany joined her in front of the open door, and she moved to make room for her. She could smell her as she stood next to her—clean, familiar, unique—and felt her arm brush against her as she leaned over and reached inside. Brittany took a beer and a bottle of hot sauce, and returned to the stove.

Brittany opened the beer and poured it in the water, then added the hot sauce and some other seasoning. After stirring the water to make sure the powders dissolved, she went to the back door to get the crabs.

Brittany paused for a moment before going back inside and stared at Santana, watching her cut the carrots. As she did that, she wondered again why she had come, especially now that she was engaged. None of this made much sense to her. But then Santana had always been surprising.

Brittany smiled, remembering the way she had been. Fiery, spontaneous and passionate—as she imagined most artists to be. And she was definitely that. Artistic talent like hers was a gift. She remembered seeing some paintings in the museums in New York and thinking that her work was just as good. She had given Brittany a painting before she'd left that summer. It hung above the fireplace in the living room. She'd called it a picture of her dreams, and to Brittany it had seemed extremely sensual.

When she looked at it, and she often did late in the evening, she could see desire in the colors and the lines, and if she focused carefully she could imagine what Santana had been thinking with every stroke. But painting wasn`t her only gift. Santana had the voice of an angle. Brittany had just heard her a couple of times, but it was enough. Santana had the most beautiful voice in the world.

A dog barked in the distance, and Brittany realized she had been standing with the door open a long time. She closed it quickly and went into the kitchen. "How's it going?" Brittany asked, seeing she was nearly finished. "Good. I'm almost done here, anything else for dinner?" Santana asked. "I have some homemade bread that I was planning on. From a neighbor," she added as she put the bucket in the sink. She began to wash the crabs, holding them under the tap, letting them scurry around the sink while she washed the next one. Santana picked up her cup and came over to watch her.

"Aren't you afraid they'll pinch you?" "Nope," Brittany answered, "Just grab 'em like this," she said, demonstrating. She smiled. "I forget you've done this your whole life." Santana leaned against the counter, standing close to her, and emptied her cup. When the crabs were ready Brittany put them in the pot on the stove. She washed her hands, turning to speak to Santana as she did. "You want to sit on the porch for a few minutes? I'd like to let them marinate for a half-hour." Brittany asked "Sure." Santana answered.

Brittany wiped her hands, and together they went to the back porch. Brittany flicked on the light as they went outside, and she sat in the older rocker, offering the newer one to Santana. When she saw her cup was empty, she went inside for a moment and came back with a refill and a beer for herself. Brittany held out the cup and she took it, sipping again before she put it on the table beside the chairs.

"You were sitting out here when I came, weren't you?" Santana asked. "Yeah, I sit out here every night. It's a habit now." Brittany smiled. "I can see why," Santana said as she looked around. "So, what is it you do these days?" Santana asked. "Actually, I don't do anything but work on the house right now." "How can you... I mean..." Santana stuttered but Brittany cut her off. "Mark Salling, my old boss. He offered me a part of the business, but he died not long after that so his lawyers gave me enough money to buy this place and fix it up." Santana laughed under her breath. "You always told me you'd find a way to do it."

They both sat quietly for a moment, thinking back again. Santana took another sip of tea. "Do you remember sneaking over here the night you first told me about this place?" Brittany nodded, and Santana went on: "I got home a little late that evening, and my parents were furious when I finally came in. I can still picture my daddy standing in the living room smoking a cigar and my mother on the sofa staring straight ahead. I swear, they looked as if a family member had died. That was when my parents understood that it was something between us. They didn`t understand what, just that it was something. My mother had a long talk with me later that night.

"You told me about it the next day. It hurt my feelings, too. I liked your parents and I had no idea they didn't like me." Brittany said with a sad tone. "It wasn't that they didn't like you. They didn't think you deserved me as friend." "There's not much difference." Brittany answered. "I know that, I always did. Maybe that's why my mother and I always seem to have a distance between us when we talk." Santana said quietly. "How do you feel about it now?" Brittany asked. "The same as I did back then. That it's wrong, that it isn't fair. It was a terrible thing for a girl to learn, that status is more important than feelings." Santana suddenly sounded a bit angry. Brittany said nothing.

"I've thought about you ever since that summer," Santana said. "You have?" "Why wouldn't you think so?" She seemed genuinely surprised. "You never answered my letters." Brittany said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You wrote?" "Dozens of letters! I wrote to you for two years without receiving a single reply! "

Santana slowly shook her head before lowering her eyes. "I didn't know..." she said quietly, and Brittany knew it must have been her mother checking the mail, removing the letters without her knowing it. It was what Brittany had always suspected, and she watched as Santana's came to the same realization.

"It was wrong of her to do that, Brittany, and I'm sorry she did. But try to understand. Once I left, she probably thought it would be easier for me to just let it go. She never understood how much you meant to me, and, to be honest, I don't even know if she ever loved my father the way I loved you. In her mind, she was just trying to protect my feelings, and she probably thought the best way to do that was to hide the letters you sent."

"That wasn't her decision to make," Brittany said angry. "I know." Santana answered sad. "Would it have made a difference even if you'd got them?" Brittany asked. "Of course, I always wondered what you were up to." "No, I mean with us. Do you think we would have made it?" It took a moment for Santana to answer. "I don't know, Brittany. I really don't, and you don't either. We're not the same people we were then. We've changed, both of us. And my parents would never allow it."

Santana paused, Brittany didn't respond so she went on. "But yes, Brittany, I think we would have. At least, I'd like to think we would have. Of course we would have to deal with my parents but…" Brittany nodded, looked down and turned away. "What's Puck like?"

Santana hesitated, not expecting the question. Bringing up Puck's name brought slight feelings of guilt, and for a moment she didn't know how to answer. She reached for her cup, took another sip of tea, then spoke quietly.

"Puck's handsome, charming and successful. He's kind to me, he makes me laugh, and I know he loves me in his own way." She collected her thoughts. "But there's always going to be something missing in our relationship."

She surprised herself with her answer but knew it was true. And she also knew by looking at Brittany that she had suspected the answer when she asked. "Why?" She shrugged and her voice was barely above a whisper. "I guess I still look for the kind of love we had that summer."

Brittany thought about what she had said, thought about the relationships she'd had since she'd last seen Santana. "How about you? Did you ever think about us?" Santana asked. "All the time, I still do." Brittany smiled. "Are you seeing anyone'?" "No," she answered, shaking her head. She finished her beer. "I'm going to go and start the water. Can I get you anything?" Santana shook her head, and Brittany went to the kitchen and put the crabs in the steamer and the bread in the oven.

She found some flour and corn flour for the vegetables, covered them, and put some fat into the frying pan. After turning the heat on low, she set a timer and pulled another beer from the fridge before heading back to the porch. And while she was doing those things, she thought about Santana and the love that was missing from both their lives.

Santana, too, was thinking. About Brittany, about herself, about a lot of things. For a moment she wished that she weren't engaged, but quickly stopped herself. It wasn't Brittany she loved; she loved what they once had been. Besides, it was normal to feel this way. Brittany was her first real love, the only person she'd ever been with—how could she expect to forget her?

Yet, was it normal for her stomach to twitch whenever Brittany came near? Was it normal to confess things she could never tell anyone else? Was it normal to come here three weeks before her wedding day?

"No, it's not," she finally whispered to herself as she looked to the evening sky, "There's nothing normal about any of this."

Brittany came and Santana smiled at her, glad she'd come back so she didn't have to think about it anymore. "It's going to take a few minutes," She said as she sat down. "That's fine. I'm not that hungry yet." Santana smiled.

Brittany looked at her then, and Santana saw the softness in her eyes. "I'm glad you came, Sanny," she said. "Me too, I almost didn't, though." Santana answered. "Why did you come?" Brittany asked. "Just to see you, to find out what you've been up to." Brittany wondered if that was all, but didn't question further. Instead she changed the subject. "By the way, I've been meaning to ask, do you still paint and sing?" Santana shook her head. "Not anymore." Brittany was stunned. "Why not? You have so much talent!"

"It's a long story." "I've got all night," Brittany answered. "Did you really think I was talented?" Santana asked quietly. "C'mon," Brittany said, reaching out for her hand. "I want to show you something."

She got up and followed Brittany through the door to the living room. Brittany stopped in front of the fireplace and pointed to the painting that hung above the fireplace. Santana gasped, surprised she hadn't noticed it earlier, but even more surprised it was there at all. "You kept it'?" She said as she turned to Brittany "Of course I kept it! It's wonderful."

She gave her a skeptical look, and Brittany explained. "It makes me feel alive when I look at it. Sometimes I have to get up and touch it. It's just so real—the shapes, the shadows, the colors. It's incredible, Santana, you`re incredible! No one has ever told you that before?" "My professor did," she said, "but I guess I didn't believe him." Brittany knew there was more. Santana looked away before continuing "I've been drawing and painting since I was a child. I guess that once I got a little older I began to think I was good at it. I enjoyed it too. I remember working on this painting that summer, adding more to it every day, changing it as our relationship changed. I don't even remember how it started or what I wanted it to be, but somehow it evolved into this." She stopped for a moment, gathering her thoughts.

"My parents didn't think it was proper for someone like me to paint for a living. I just stopped after a while. I haven't touched a brush in years." She stared at the painting. "I'm not sure if I can paint anymore. It's been a long time. Oh and you`re probably wondering if I still sing too. The answer is no. Puck isn`t a big fan of music, so I stopped."

"You can still do it, Santana. I know you can. You have a talent that comes from inside you, from your heart, not from your fingers. What you have can't ever go away. It's what other people only dream about! The same with your voice! You're an artist, Santana."

The words were spoken with such sincerity that Santana knew she wasn't saying it just to be nice. Brittany truly believed in her, and for some reason that meant more to her than she expected. She turned to face her. She reached over and touched Brittany`s hand, hesitantly, gently, amazed that after all these years Brittany had somehow known exactly what she'd needed to hear. When their eyes locked, she once again realized how special Brittany was.

They finished dinner, both pleased with the meal. Brittany looked at her watch and saw that it was getting late. She had enjoyed talking to Santana and wondered what she'd thought about her life, hoping it would somehow make a difference, if it could. She got up and refilled the teapot. They both brought the dishes to the sink and cleaned the table, and she poured two more cups of hot water, adding tea bags to both. "How about the porch again?" Brittany asked, handing her the cup, and she agreed, leading the way.

Brittany grabbed a quilt for her in case she got cold, and soon they had taken their places again, the quilt over her legs, rockers moving. Brittany watched her from the corner of her eye. "God, she's beautiful," she thought. And inside she ached. For something had happened during dinner.

Quite simply, she had fallen in love again. She knew that now, as they sat next to one another. She had fallen in love with a new Santana, not just her memory. But then she had never really stopped, and this, she realized, was her destiny.

"It's been quite a night." Brittany said, her voice softer now. "Yes, it has." Santana said, "A wonderful night."

Brittany glanced up at the stars, their twinkling lights reminding her that Santana would be leaving soon, and she felt almost empty inside. This was a night she wanted never to end. How should she tell her? What could she say that would make her stay? She didn't know. And as a result of that, the decision was to say nothing.

The rockers moved in quiet rhythm. "Talk to me," Santana finally said, her voice sensual. Or was Brittany`s mind just playing tricks on her? "What should I say?" "Talk like you did to me under the oak tree." And she did. She said Whitman and Thomas, because Brittany loved the images, Tennyson and Browning, because their themes felt so familiar.

They rocked for a while, drinking tea, sitting quietly, drifting in their thoughts. The urge that had driven her here was gone now—she was happy about that—but she worried about the feelings that had taken its place, the feelings that had begun to sift and swirl in her pores. She'd tried to deny them, hide from them, but now she realized that she didn't want them to stop.

Puck could not make her feel like this. He never had and probably never would. Maybe that was why she had never slept with him. She had always used the excuse that she wanted to wait until marriage. He took it well, usually, and she sometimes wondered how hurt he would be if he ever found out about Brittany.

But there was something else that made her want to wait, and it had to do with Puck himself. He was good at his work, and it always came first. For him there was no time for poems and wasted evenings on porches. She knew this was why he was successful, and part of her respected him for that. But she also sensed it wasn't enough. She wanted something more. Passion and romance, perhaps, or quiet conversations in candlelit rooms, or perhaps something as simple as not being second.

Brittany, too, was sifting through her thoughts. As she rocked, she remembered the thousands of empty nights she had spent since they'd last seen each other. Seeing her again brought all those feelings to the surface, and she found it impossible to hold them back. She knew she wanted to make love to Santana again, and to have her love in return. It was what she needed most in the world. But she also realized she could never get that now that she was engaged.

"Are you tired?" Brittany asked, finally breaking free from her thoughts. "A little, I should really be going in a couple of minutes." I know." Brittany said, nodding. Santana didn't get up right away. Instead she picked up the cup and drank the last drops of tea, feeling it warm her throat. "I should go," she finally said, handing the quilt back to Brittany.

Brittany nodded and got up without a word. She carried the quilt, and the two of them walked to her car while leaves crunched beneath their feet. She started to take off the shirt Brittany had borrowed her as she opened the door, but Brittany stopped her. "Keep it," she said. "I want you to have it."

Santana didn't ask why, because she wanted to keep it, too. For some reason, as she stood there, she was reminded of standing on her front porch after a high-school dance, waiting for a kiss. "I had a great time tonight," Brittany said, "thank you for finding me." "I did, too," Santana answered "Will I see you tomorrow?" Brittany asked.

A simple question. Santana knew what the answer should be. "I don't think we should," was all she had to say, and it would end right here and now. But instead she answered: "I'd like that."

Brittany was surprised. She hadn't expected her to answer this way. She wanted to touch her then, to take her in her arms, but she didn't.

"Can you be here about noon?" Brittany asked. "Sure. What do you want to do?" "You'll see," she answered. "I know just the place to go." "Have I ever been there before?" Santana "No, but it's a special place. You'll love it." Brittany winked.

Santana moved away before Brittany could attempt a kiss. She didn't know if she would try but knew for some reason that, if she did, she would have a hard time stopping her. She slid behind the wheel, breathing a sigh of relief. Brittany shut the door for her, and she started the engine. As the car idled, she rolled down the window just a hit. "See you tomorrow," she said.

Brittany waved as Santana turned the car around and then drove up the lane, heading hack towards town. She watched until the lights vanished behind far-off oak trees and the engine noise was gone. Nay wandered up to her and she bent down to pet her, then they returned to the back porch side by side.

Brittany sat in the rocker again, trying once more to understand the evening that had just passed. Replaying it, running it in slow motion. "She's engaged." she finally whispered, and then was silent for hours, her rocker making the only noise. The night was quiet, with little activity except for Nay, who checked on her occasionally as if to ask, "Are you all right?"

And some time after midnight on that clear October evening, Brittany was overwhelmed with longing. And if anyone had seen her, they would have seen what looked like an old woman, someone who'd aged a lifetime in just a couple of hours. She bent over in her rocker with her face in her hands and tears in her eyes. She didn't know how to stop them.

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Next chapter will be up soon :)


	5. Chapter 5 - PHONE CALLS

**Hey guys! ****This chapter`s gonna be kinda short. Mostly because I don`t have much time to write today, but also because we need some Puck in this story **** Sooo sorry about that. Enjoy!**

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**CHAPTER FOUR- PHONE CALLS**

Puck hung up the phone. He had called at seven, then at eight thirty, and now he checked his watch again: Nine forty-five. Where was she?

He knew she was where she had said she would be, because he had spoken to the manager. Yes, she had checked in and he had last seen her around six. Going to dinner, he thought, and no, he hadn't seen her since.

Puck shook his head and leaned back in his chair. He was the last one in the office as usual. That was normal when he had an ongoing trial, even if the trial was going well. Law was his passion, and the late hours at the office alone gave him the opportunity to catch up on his work without interruption.

He knew he would win the case because he was good at his work, and charmed the jury easy. He always did. He hadn`t lost a case in years!

Most of his success came from hard work. He had always paid attention to details, especially when he'd begun his practice. Little things, obscure things, and it had become a habit now. And now a little detail bothered him.

Not about the case. That was fine. It was something else, something about Santana. But damn, he couldn't put his finger on it.

Sometime after her call, maybe an hour or so, something clicked in his mind: The little detail. Detail. . . . Something insignificant? Something important? "Think Puck! Think!" Damn, what was it?

His mind clicked. Something. . . something. . . something said? Something had been said? Yes, that was it! But what was it? Had Santana said anything on the phone that had been strange? He ran through the conversation again. What had she said?

Her trip was good; she had checked in, had done some shopping. Left her number. That's about it.

He thought about her then. He loved her, he was sure of that. Not only was she beautiful and charming, but she'd become his source of stability and best friend as well. After a hard day at work, she was the first person he would call. She would listen to him, laugh at the right moments, and had a sixth sense about what he needed to hear. He knew he should spend more time with her, but she always understood, but still he cursed himself for not making the time. Once he was married he'd shorten his hours, he promised himself.

He'd have his secretary check his schedule to make sure he wasn't overextending himself… Check? And his mind clicked another notch. Check . . . checking…checking in? He looked to the ceiling. Checking in?

Yes, that was it. He closed his eyes and thought for a second. What, then? "C'mon, don't fail now. Think, damn it, think!" Her parents old summerhouse! The thought popped into his head. The house wasn`t the thing, but the place. That was it, the little detail…or part of it. What else, though?

The town, he thought again. He didn`t remember the name of the town, but he knew where it was. He had stopped there a few times on the way to the coast. Nothing special. He and Santana had never been there together.

But Santana had been there before.

Santana, that town . . . and . . . something at or about a party? It was something Santana`s mother had once said. What had she said?

Suddenly Puck remembered what Santana's mother had said so long ago. It was something about Santana being in "Too close" with or to a young woman from that town. She called it "some sort of puppy love."

He hadn`t thought much about it when he'd heard it. She was a girl and Santana was a girl, so it couldn`t be anything more than a close friendship, so he had just turned to smile at Santana. But she hadn't smiled. She was angry.

Maybe there was more to the friendship than Santana`s mother knew. He didn`t want to believe it. It was gross and so wrong in so many ways! "They were just good friends." He kept telling himself.

But now she was there alone. Puck brought his palms together, as though he were praying, resting his fingertips against his lips. Was it a coincidence? It could be nothing, could be exactly what she said, could be stress and antique shopping. It probably was, yet . . . what if? Puck considered the other possibility, and for the first time in a long time he became frightened. What if she's with her? Like with her, with her.

He made up his mind: he would do anything it took to keep Santana. She was everything he'd always needed and wanted, and he'd never find another woman like her.

So, with trembling hands, he dialed the phone for the fourth and last time that evening. And again there was no answer.

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Hope you guys liked it :) next C. will be up asap


	6. Chapter 6 - KAYAKS AND FORGOTTEN DREAMS

**Hey guys! Here`s chapter 5 :) **** Enjoy! AAAAAAND please remember to review! It makes the whole writing thing a lot more fun for me, and I gotta know if you guys like it or not. Cause if you don`t, I have to find something else to write about (Brittana ofc), but a new story (:**

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**CHAPTER FIVE - KAYAKS AND FORGOTTEN DREAMS**

Santana woke up early the next morning. She'd slept in the shirt Brittany had given her, and she smelt her once again while thinking about the evening they'd spent together. The easy laughter and conversation came back to her, and she especially remembered the way Brittany had talked about her painting. It was so unexpected, yet uplifting, and she realized how sorry she would have been had she decided not to see Brittany again.

She looked out of the window and watched some birds search for food in the early light. Brittany, she knew, had always been a morning person. Santana knew she liked to kayak or canoe, and she remembered one morning she'd spent with her in her canoe, watching the sun come up. She'd had to sneak out of her window to do it because her parents wouldn't allow it, but she hadn't been caught and she remembered how Brittany had slipped her arm around her and pulled her close as dawn began to unfold. "Look there," Brittany had whispered, and she'd watched her first sunrise with her head on Brittany`s shoulder, wondering if anything could be better than that moment.

As she got out of bed to take her bath, feeling the cold floor beneath her feet, she wondered if Brittany had been on the water this morning watching another day begin, thinking somehow Brittany probably had.

She was right. Brittany was up before the sun and dressed quickly. She drank a quick glass of milk and grabbed two biscuits on the way out of the door. After Nay greeted her with a couple of sloppy licks, she walked to the dock where her kayak was stored. She liked to let the river work its magic, loosening up her muscles, warming her body, clearing her mind.

The old kayak hung on two rusty hooks attached to the dock, just above the water line. She lifted it free, inspected it quickly, then took it to the hank. In a couple of quick moves, she had it in the water and was working her way up the river, paddling hard, working off the tension, preparing for the day.

Questions danced in her mind. She wondered about Puck and what type of man he was, wondered about their relationship, but most of all she wondered about Santana and why she had come.

By the time she reached home, she felt renewed. Checking her watch, she was surprised to find that it had taken two hours. Time always played tricks out there.

Brittany hung the kayak to dry and went to the shed where she stored her two-man canoe. She carried it to the hank, leaving it a few feet from the water, and turned towards the house. In the west she saw storm clouds, thick and heavy, far off but they were definitely there. The winds weren't blowing hard but they were bringing the clouds closer. From the look of them, she didn't want to be outside when they got here. Damn. How much time did she have? A few hours, maybe more.

Brittany showered, put on new jeans, a red shirt and black cowboy boots, brushed her hair and went downstairs to the kitchen. She did the dishes from the night before, picked up a little around the house, made herself some coffee and went to the porch. The sky was darker now and she checked the barometer. Steady, but it would start dropping soon.

She'd learned long ago to never underestimate the weather, and she wondered if it was a good idea to go out. The rain she could deal with, lightning was a different story. A canoe was no place to be when electricity flashed in steamy air.

She finished her coffee, putting off the decision until later. She went to the toolshed and found her axe. After checking the blade by pressing her thumb to it, she sharpened it with a whetstone until it was ready.

Brittany spent the next twenty minutes splitting and stacking woods. She did it easily, her strokes effective, and didn't break a sweat. She put a few logs off to the side for later and brought them inside when she was finished, stacking them by the fireplace.

She looked at Santana's painting and reached out to touch it, bringing back the feelings of disbelief at seeing her again. God, what was it about her that made her feel this way? Even after all these years? What sort of power did Santana have over her?

She finally turned away, shaking her head, and went back to the porch. Brittany checked the barometer again. It hadn't changed. She then looked at her watch. Santana should be here soon.

Santana spent the morning downtown. The Depression had taken its toll, but she could see signs of prosperity beginning to work their way back. But many things looked the same. Her and Brittany`s park was the same too. She smiled at the memory then, thinking back to when things were simpler, or at least had seemed to be.

Now, nothing was simple. She wondered what she would have been doing now if she had stayed at home with Puck. It wasn't very difficult to imagine, because her routines rarely changed. It was Wednesday, which meant bridge at the country club, then on to the Junior Women's League, where they would probably be arranging another fund-raiser for the private school or hospital. After that, a visit to her mother, then home to get ready for dinner with Puck, because he made it a point to leave work by seven. It was the one night a week she saw him regularly.

She felt a feeling of sadness about that. She was hoping that one day he would change. He had often promised to and usually followed through for a few weeks before drifting back to the same schedule. "I can't tonight, honey." he would explain, "I'm sorry, but I can't. Let me make it up to you later."

She didn't like to argue, mostly because she knew he was telling the truth. Trial work was demanding, both before and during, yet she couldn't help wondering sometimes why he had spent so much time courting her if he didn't want to spend time with her now.

She passed an art gallery on Front Street, almost walked by it in her preoccupation, then turned and went back. She paused at the door for a second, surprised at how long it had been since she'd been in one. At least three years, maybe longer.

She went inside and browsed among the paintings. Many of the artists were local, and there was a strong sea flavor to their works.

On one wall, though, there were a few paintings more suited to her tastes, by an artist she'd never heard of. Most appeared to have been inspired by the architecture of the Greek islands. In the painting she liked the best, she noted the artist had purposely exaggerated the scene with smaller-than-life figures, wide lines and heavy sweeps of vivid, swirling color, drawing the eye, almost directing what it would see next. It was dynamic, dramatic. She considered buying it before she realized that she liked it because it reminded her of her own work. She examined it more closely and thought to herself that maybe Brittany was right. Maybe she should start painting again.

At nine thirty Santana left the gallery and went to Hoffman-Lane, a department store. It took a few minutes to find what she was looking for. Paper, drawing chalk and pencils, not high quality but good enough. It wasn't painting, but it was a start, and she was excited by the time she got back to her room.

She examined the work when she was finished, pleased with the effort. She wondered what to try next and finally decided. Since she didn't have a model, she visualized it in her head before starting. And though it was hard, it began to take form.

Minutes passed quickly. She worked steadily, checking the time frequently so she wouldn't be late, and finished it a little before noon. It had taken almost two hours, but the end result surprised her. It looked as though it had taken a great deal longer. After rolling it up, she put it in a bag and collected the rest of her things. On her way out of the door, she looked at herself in the mirror, feeling oddly relaxed, not exactly sure why.

Down the stairs again and out of the door. As she left she heard a voice behind her. "Miss?" She turned. The manager. The same man as yesterday, a curious look on his face. "Yes?" "You had some calls last night." She was shocked. "I did?" "Yes. All from a Mr. Puckerman." Oh, God. "Puck called?" "Yes, ma'am, four times. He was concerned about you. He said he was your fiancé."

She smiled weakly, trying to hide what she was thinking. Four times? Four? What could that mean? What if something had happened back home? "Did he say anything? Is it an emergency?" He shook his head quickly. "He really didn't say, miss. Actually, he sounded more concerned about you."

Good, she thought. That's good. And then, just as suddenly, a pang in her chest. Why so many calls? Had she said anything yesterday? Why would he be so persistent? It was completely unlike him. Was there any way he could have found out? No, that was impossible. Unless someone saw her here yesterday and called…But they would have had to follow her out to Brittany's. No one would have done that.

She had to call him now: no way to get around it. But she didn't want to. This was her time, and she wanted to spend it doing what she wanted. She hadn't planned on speaking to him until later, and she felt almost as if talking to him now would ruin the day. Besides, what was she going to say? How could she explain being out so late? A late dinner and then a walk? Maybe. Or a movie? Or.

"Miss?"

Almost noon, she thought. Where would he be? His office, probably . . . no. In court, she suddenly realized, and immediately felt as if she'd been released from shackles. There was no way she could talk to him, even if she wanted to. She was surprised by her feelings. She shouldn't feel this way, she knew, and yet it didn't bother her. She looked at her watch, acting now.

"Is it really almost twelve?" The manager looked at the clock. "Yes, a quarter to." "Unfortunately," she started, "he's in court right now and I can't reach him. If he does call again, could you tell him I'm shopping and that I'll try to call him later?" "Of course," he answered. She could see the question in his eyes, though: But where were you last night? He had known exactly when she'd come in. Too late for a single woman in this small town. "Thank you." she said, smiling. "I'd appreciate it."

Two minutes later she was in her car, driving to Brittany's, anticipating the day, not concerned about the phone calls. Yesterday she would have been, and she wondered what that meant.

As she was driving over the drawbridge less than four minutes after she'd left the inn, Puck called from the courthouse.

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**Next chapter will be up in a couple of hours :D I know the chapters so far have been kinda boring, but I wanna 'follow' the original story, so I can`t just throw in a sex scene here and there hehe. I promise things will get a little more interesting in chapter 6! **


	7. Chapter 6 - SWANS AND STORM

Hey guys! Here`s chapter 6!

Sorry if there`s any mistakes, its 23:46, and I`m really tired hah and I was too lazy to go through all the 17 pages sooo ;)

_**PLEASE REVIEW**_ please !

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**CHAPTER SIX - SWANS AND STORM**

Brittany was sitting in her rocker, drinking sweet tea, listening for the car, when she finally heard it turn up the drive. She went around to the front and watched the car pull up and park beneath the oak tree again. Same spot as yesterday. Nay barked a greeting, and Brittany saw Santana wave from inside the car.

She stepped out, patted Nay on the head, then turned to Brittany, smiling.

Santana met her halfway, carrying a small bag. She surprised Brittany by kissing her gently on the cheek, her free hand lingering at her waist after she pulled back.

"Hi," Santana said, happiness in her eyes, "Where's the surprise?" Brittany relaxed a little, thanking God for that. "Not even a 'good afternoon' or 'how was your night?'" Santana smiled. Patience had never been one of her strongest qualities. "Fine. Good afternoon. How was your night? And where's the surprise?"

Brittany chuckled lightly, then paused. "Santana, I've got some bad news. I was going to take you someplace, but with those clouds coming in I'm not sure we should go." "It`s not raining yet. How far is it?" "Up the river about a mile." "And I've never been there before?" "Not when it was like this."

She thought for a second while she looked around. When she spoke, her voice was determined. "Then we'll go. I don't care if it rains." "Are you sure?" "Absolutely."

Brittany looked at the clouds again, noting their approach. "Then we'd better go now," Brittany said. "Can I bring that in for you?" Santana nodded, handing the bag to Brittany, and Brittany jogged to the house and took it inside, placing it on a chair in the living room. Then she grabbed some bread and put it in a bag, bringing it with her as she left the house.

They walked to the canoe, Santana beside her, a little closer than yesterday. "What exactly is this place?" "You'll see." "You're not even going to give me a hint?" "Well," Brittany said, "do you remember when we took the canoe out and watched the sun come up?" "I thought about it this morning. I remember it made me cry." Santana smiled. "What you're going to see today makes what you saw then seem ordinary!" Brittany said. "I guess I should feel special."

Brittany took a few steps before answering. "You are special." The way Brittany said it made Santana wonder if she wanted to add something else. But she didn't, and Santana smiled a little before glancing away. As she did, she felt the wind in her face and noticed it had picked up since the morning.

They reached the dock and, after tossing the bag in the canoe, Brittany quickly checked to make sure she hadn't missed anything, then slid the canoe to the water.

Can I do anything?" Santana asked. "No, just get in."

After she climbed in, Brittany pushed the canoe further into the water. Then she gracefully stepped off the dock into the canoe, placing her feet carefully to prevent it from tipping. Santana was impressed by her quickness, knowing that what she had done so quickly and easily was harder than it looked.

Santana sat at the front of the canoe, facing backwards. Brittany had said something about missing the view when she started to paddle, but she'd shaken her head, saying she was fine the way she was.

And it was true. She could see everything she really wanted to see if she turned her head, but most of all she wanted to watch Brittany. It was her she'd come to see, not the river. Her shirt was skin tight so she could see her muscles flex with every stroke. "Oh God, she is beautiful," Santana thought to herself, "100% pure beauty!"

She couldn't think of anyone else who looked like Brittany. She was complicated, almost contradictory in so many ways, yet simple, a strangely erotic combination. On the outside she was a country girl, yet there was so much more to her. Perhaps it was the poetry that made her different, or perhaps it was the values her father had instilled in her, growing up. Either way, she seemed to live life more fully than others appeared to, and that was what had first attracted her to Brittany.

"What are you thinking?" Brittany asked. Santana felt her insides jump just a hit as Brittany's voice brought her back to real life. She realized she hadn't said much since they'd started, and she appreciated the silence Brittany had allowed her. Brittany had always been understanding like that.

"Good things," Santana answered quietly, and she saw in her eyes that she knew Santana was thinking about her. Santana liked the fact that Brittany knew it, and she hoped Brittany had been thinking about her as well.

She understood then that something was stirring inside her, as it had so many years ago. Watching Brittany's body move made her feel it. And as their eyes met for a second, she felt the heat in her

neck and breasts, and she flushed, turning away before Brittany noticed. "How much further?" Santana asked. "Another half-mile or so. Not any more than that." A pause. Then Santana said: "Tell me, Brittany, what do you remember most from the summer we spent together?"

"All of it." Brittany said. "Anything in particular?" Santana asked. "No." Brittany said quickly. "You don't remember?" Santana asked kinda worried. Brittany answered quietly. "No, it's not that. It's not what you're thinking. I was serious when I said 'all of it.' I can remember every moment we were together, and in each of them there was something wonderful. I can't pick any one time that meant more than any other. The entire summer was perfect, the kind of summer everyone should have. How could I pick one moment over another? Poets often describe love as an emotion that we can't control, one that overwhelms logic and common sense. That's what it was like for me. I didn't plan on falling in love with you, and I doubt if you planned on falling in love with me. But once we met, it was clear that neither of us could control what was happening to us. We fell in love, despite our differences, and once we did, something rare and beautiful was created. For me, love like that has happened only once, and that's why every minute we spent together has been seared in my memory. I'll never forget a single moment of it."

Santana stared at her. No one had ever said anything like that to her before. Ever! She didn't know what to say and stayed silent, her face hot.

"I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, Santana. I didn't mean to. But that summer has stayed with me and probably always will. I know it can't be the same between us, but that doesn't change the way I felt about you then." "It didn't make me uncomfortable, Brittany ... It's just that I don't ever hear things like that. What you said was beautiful. It takes a poet to talk the way you do. and like I said, you're the only poet I've ever met."

Peaceful silence descended on them. An osprey cried somewhere in the distance. The paddle moved rhythmically, causing ripples that rocked the boat ever so slightly. The breeze had stopped, and the clouds grew blacker as the canoe moved up the river.

Santana noticed it all, every sound, every thought. Her senses had come alive, invigorating her, and she felt strangely satisfied that she'd come, pleased that Brittany had turned into the type of woman she'd thought she would, pleased that she would live forever with that knowledge.

She watched Brittany rowing. Brittany displayed sexuality in everything she did, everything she was, and she caught herself thinking about her in a way that an engaged woman shouldn't. She tried not to stare, but the easy way Brittany moved her body made it hard to keep her eyes from her for long.

"Here we are," Brittany said as she guided the canoe towards some trees near the bank. Santana looked around, not seeing anything special. "Where is it?" "Here," Brittany said again, pointing the canoe at a fallen tree that was almost completely obscuring an opening. Brittany guided the canoe around the tree, and both of them had to lower their heads to keep from bumping them.

"Close your eyes," Brittany whispered, and Santana did, bringing her hands to her face. She felt the movement of the canoe as Brittany pushed it forwards, away from the pull of the creek. "Okay." She finally said after she`d paddling. "You can open them now."

They sat in the middle of a small lake. It wasn't large, maybe a hundred yards across, and she was surprised at how invisible it had been just moments before.

It was spectacular. Tundra swan and Canada geese literally surrounded them. Thousands of them! Birds floating so close together in some places that she couldn't see the water. From a distance, the groups of swans looked almost like icebergs.

"Oh, Brittany," she finally said softly, "it's beautiful!"

They sat in silence for a long while, watching the birds. Brittany pointed out a group of chicks, recently hatched, following a pack of geese near the shore, struggling to keep up.

The air was filled with honking and tweeting as Brittany moved the canoe through the water. The birds ignored them for the most part. The only ones that seemed bothered were those forced to move when the canoe approached them. Santana reached out to touch the closest ones and felt their feathers ruffling under her fingers.

Brittany took out the bread she'd brought in her bag and handed it to Santana. She scattered it, favoring the little ones, laughing and smiling as they swam in circles looking for food.

They stayed until thunder boomed in the distance—faint hut powerful—and both of them knew it was time to leave. Brittany paddled the canoe back to the main creek. She was still amazed by what she had seen.

"Brittany, what are they doing here?" "I don't know. I know the swans from up north migrate to Lake Matamuskeet every winter, but I guess they came here this time. I don't know why. Maybe the early blizzard had something to do with Matamuskeet."

Brittany paddled hard as dark clouds rolled directly overhead. Soon rain began to fall, a light sprinkle at first, then gradually harder. Lightning . . . a pause . . . then thunder again. A little louder now. Maybe six or seven miles away. More rain as Brittany began to paddle even harder, her muscles tightening with every stroke. Thicker drops now, falling hard. Brittany rowing... getting wet… cursing to herself ... losing to Mother Nature.

Santana watched the rain fall from the sky. The sky darkened a little more. She leaned her head back for a moment to let it hit her face. She ran her hands through her hair, feeling its wetness. It felt wonderful, she felt wonderful. Even through the rain she could hear Brittany breathing hard, and the sound aroused her sexually in a way she hadn't felt in years.

A cloud burst directly above them and the rain began to come down harder than she'd ever seen it. Santana looked upwards and laughed, giving up any attempt at keeping dry, making Brittany feel better. Even though she'd made the decision to come, Brittany doubted that she'd expected to be caught in a storm like this.

They reached the dock a couple of minutes later, and Brittany moved in close enough for Santana to step out. Brittany helped her up, then got out herself and dragged the canoe up the bank, tying it to the dock.

As she was tying the canoe, she looked up at Santana and stopped breathing for just a second. She was incredibly beautiful as she waited, watching her. She didn't try to keep dry or hide herself, and Brittany could see the outline of her breasts as they pressed through the fabric of the dress that clung tightly to her body. Brittany quickly turned away, embarrassed. When she finished and stood up, Santana took her hands in hers, surprising Brittany.

Despite the downpour, they didn't rush towards the house, and Brittany imagined what it would be like to spend the night with her.

Santana felt the warmth in Brittany`s hands and wondered what it would be like to have them touch her body, lingering slowly across her skin. Just thinking about it made her take a deep breath. She realized then that something had changed. And although she couldn't pinpoint the exact time—yesterday after dinner, or this afternoon in the canoe, or when they saw the swans, or maybe even now as they walked holding hands—she knew that she had fallen in love with Brittany Susan Pierce again, and that maybe, just maybe, she had never stopped.

There was no uneasiness between them as they reached the door and went inside, pausing in the hall, clothes dripping. "I think I can find something here for you so you can get out of those clothes. It might be a little big, but it's warm." "Anything," Santana answered. "I'll be back in a second."

Brittany slipped off her boots and then ran up the stairs. She came back a minute later. She had a pair of cotton trousers and a long-sleeved shirt under one arm and some jeans with a blue shirt in the other.

"Here," she said, handing Santana the cotton trousers and shirt. "You can change in the bedroom upstairs. There's a bathroom and towel up there too if you want to shower."

Santana thanked her with a smile and went upstairs, feeling Brittany`s eyes on her as she walked. She entered the bedroom and closed the door, then set the trousers and shirt on Brittany`s bed and undressed

Naked, she went to Brittany`s closet and found a hanger, put her dress, bra and panties on it, and then went to hang it in the bathroom so it wouldn't drip on the hardwood floor. She felt a secret thrill at being naked in the same room Brittany slept in.

She didn't want to shower after being in the rain. She liked the soft feeling on her skin. She slipped on Brittany`s clothes before looking at herself in the mirror. The trousers were big, but tucking in the shirt helped, and she rolled up the bottoms just a little so they wouldn't drag. The neck was torn a little, but she liked the way it looked on her anyway. She pulled the sleeves up almost to the elbows, went to the chest of drawers and slipped on some socks, then went to the bathroom to find a hairbrush.

She brushed her wet hair just enough to get out the tangles, letting it rest on her shoulders. Looking in the mirror, she wished she had brought a clasp or a couple of hairpins. And a little more mascara. Her eyes still had a little of what she'd put on earlier, and she touched up with some soap, doing the best she could.

When she was finished, she checked herself in the mirror, feeling pretty despite everything, and went back downstairs.

Brittany was in the living room squatting before a fire, doing her best to coax it to life. She didn't see Santana come in, and she watched Brittany as she worked. Brittany had changed her clothes as well and looked good.

She poked the fire, moving the logs, and added some more firewood. Santana leaned against the doorframe; one leg crossed over the other, and continued to watch Brittany. In a few minutes the fire had turned to flames, even and steady.

Brittany turned to the side to straighten the remaining unused logs and caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of her eye. She looked up quickly.

Even in her old clothes Santana looked beautiful. After a moment she shyly went back to stacking the logs. "I didn't hear you come in." she said, trying to sound casual. "How long have you been standing there?" "A couple of minutes." Santana smiled.

Brittany brushed her hands on her jeans, then pointed to the kitchen. "Can I get you some tea? I started the water while you were upstairs." Small talk, anything to keep her mind clear. But damn, the way she looked...!

She thought for a second. "Do you have anything stronger, or is it too early to drink?" Brittany smiled. "I have some bourbon here somewhere. Is that okay?" "That sounds great." Brittany started towards the kitchen, and Santana watched Brittany ran her hand through her wet hair as she disappeared.

Thunder boomed loudly and another downpour started. Santana could hear the roaring of the rain on the roof, could hear the snapping of lop as the flickering flames lit the room. She took a quilt from the sofa and sat on the rug in front of the fire. Crossing her legs, she adjusted the quilt until she was comfortable and watched the dancing flames. Brittany came back, saw what she had done, and went to sit beside her. Brittan put down two glasses and poured some bourbon into each of them. Outside, the sky grew darker. Thunder again. Loud. The storm in full fury, winds whipping the rain in circles.

"It's quite a storm," Brittany said as she watched the drops flow in vertical streams on the windows. She and Santana were close now, though not touching, and Brittany watched her chest rise slightly with every breath, imagining the feel of her body once again before fighting back the thought

"I like it," Santana said, taking a sip. "I've always liked thunderstorms. Even as a young girl." "Why?" Saying anything, keeping her balance. "I don't know. They just always seemed romantic to me."

She was quiet for a moment, and Brittany watched the fire flicker in her brown eyes. Then she said, "Do you remember sitting together and watching the storm a few nights before I left?" "Of course." Brittany smiled. "I used to think about it all the time after I went home. I always thought about how you looked that night. It was the way I remembered you." "Have I changed much?"

Santana took another sip of bourbon, feeling it warm her. She touched her hand as she answered. "Not really. Not in the things that I remember. You're older, of course, with more life behind you, but you've still got the same gleam in your eye. You still read poetry and float on rivers. And you've still got a gentleness that not even the devil himself could take away."

Brittany thought about what she'd said and felt her hand lingering on hers, her thumb tracing slow circles. "Santana, you asked me earlier what I remembered most about the summer. What do you remember?"

It was a while before she answered. "I remember making love. That's what I remember most. You were my first, and it was more wonderful than I ever thought it would be."

Brittany took a drink of bourbon, remembering, bringing back the old feelings.

She went on. "I remember being so afraid beforehand that I was trembling, but at the same time being so excited. I'm glad you were the first. I'm glad we were able to share that." "Me too." "Were you as afraid as I was?" Brittany nodded without speaking, and Santana smiled at her honesty.

Santana squeezed her hand, let go, and moved closer. She put her hand through Brittany`s arm, cradling it, and rested her head on her shoulder. Brittany could smell her, soft like the rain, warm.

Santana spoke quietly. "Do you remember walking home after the festival? I asked you if you wanted to see me again. You just nodded your head and didn't say a word. It wasn't too convincing." "I'd never met anyone like you. I didn't know what to say." Brittany laughed at the memory.

"I know. You could never hide anything. Your eyes always gave you away. You had the most wonderful eyes I'd ever seen." She lifted her head from her shoulder and looked directly at Brittany. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "I think I loved you more that summer than I ever loved anyone."

Lightning flashed again. In the quiet moments before the thunder, their eyes met as they tried to undo all those years. When the thunder finally sounded, Brittany sighed and turned from her, towards the windows.

"I wish you could have read the letters I wrote you," she said. Santana didn't speak for a while. "It wasn't just up to you, Brittany. I didn't tell you, but I wrote you a dozen letters after I got home. I just never sent them." "Why?" Brittany was surprised. "I guess I was too afraid." "Of what?" "That maybe it wasn't as real as I thought it was. That maybe you forgot me." "I would never do that. I couldn't even think it!"

"I know that now. I can see it when I took at you. But back then it was different. There was so much I didn't understand, things that a young girl's mind couldn't sort out." "What do you mean?" "When your letters never came, I didn't know what to think. I remember talking to my best friend about that summer, and she said that you had got what you wanted, and that she wasn't surprised that you wouldn't write. I didn't believe that you were that way, I never did, but hearing it and thinking about all our differences made me wonder if maybe the summer meant more to me than it had meant to you ..."

Brittany looked away and she continued. "In time, the hurt began to fade and it was easier to just let it go. At least I thought it was. But in every man…and woman I met in the next few years I found myself looking for you, and when the feelings got too strong I'd write you another letter. But I never sent them for fear of what I might find. By then you'd gone on with your life and I didn't want to think about you loving someone else. I wanted to remember us like we were that summer."

"You're better than I remembered, Santana." "You're sweet, Brittany."

Brittany almost stopped there, knowing that if she kept the words inside her she could keep control, the same control she had kept the past years. But then something overtook her and she gave in to it, hoping it would take them back to what they'd had so long ago.

"I'm not saying it because I'm sweet. I'm saying it because I love you now and I always have. More than you can imagine."

Santana took a sip of bourbon and began to feel its effects. But it wasn't just the alcohol that made her hold Brittany a little tighter and feel her warmth against her. Glancing out of the window, she saw the clouds were almost black.

"Brittany, you've never asked, but I want you to know something." "What is it?" Her voice was tender. "There's never been another, Brittany. You weren't just the first. You're the only woman…person -I've ever been with, I don't expect you to say the same thing, but I wanted you to know."

Brittany was silent as Santana turned away. She felt warmer as she watched the fire. She leaned into Brittany and felt the heat between them, felt her body, felt her arm tight around her. It felt so right to be here. Everything felt right. The fire, the drinks, the storm—it couldn't have been more perfect. It seemed their years apart didn't matter anymore.

They gave in then, to everything they had fought against for the last years. Santana lifted her head off Brittany`s shoulder, looked at her with hazy eyes, and Brittany kissed her softly on the lips. She brought her hand to Brittany`s face and touched her cheek, brushing it softly with her fingers. Brittany leaned in and kissed her tenderly, and she kissed back, feeling the years of separation dissolve into passion.

Santana closed her eyes and parted her lips as Brittany ran her fingers up and down her arms, slowly, lightly. She kissed Santana`s neck, her cheek, her eyelids, and she felt the moisture of Brittany`s mouth linger wherever her lips had touched. Santana took her hand and led it to her breasts, and a whimper rose in her throat as she gently touched them through the thin fabric of the shirt.

The world seemed dreamlike as she pulled back from Brittany, the firelight setting her face aglow. Without speaking, she started to undo the buttons on her shirt. Brittany watched her as she did it and listened to her soft breaths as she made her way downwards. With each button Brittany could feel her fingers brushing against her skin, and she smiled softly at Brittany when she finally finished.

Brittany felt Santana slide her hands inside, touching her lightly, exploring her body. She kissed Brittany`s neck gently as she pulled the shirt over her shoulders, freeing the sleeves. With that, Santana slowly reached for her. Brittany lifted her shirt and ran her finger slowly across her belly before raising her arms and slipping it off. She felt short of breath as Brittany`s hands gently caressed her back, her arms, her shoulders, and she felt their heated bodies press together, skin to skin.

They lay back, close to the fire, and the heat made the air seem thick. She ran her hands through Brittany`s hair as she held herself above her, her arm muscles hard from the exertion. With a little tempting frown, Santana pulled her closer, but she resisted. Instead Brittany lowered herself and lightly rubbed her breasts against Santana`s, and Santana felt her body respond with anticipation.

Brittany did this until she couldn't take it anymore, and when they finally joined as one, Santana cried aloud and pressed her fingers hard into Brittany`s back. She buried her face in her neck and felt Brittany`s fingers deep inside her, felt her strength and gentleness.

She opened her eyes and watched Brittany in the firelight. She saw her body glisten with crystal sweat and felt every responsibility, every facet of her life, slipping away.

By the time the rain had stopped and the sun had set, her body was exhausted. They spent the day in each other's arms, alternately making love by the fire and then holding each other as they watched the flames curl around the wood. Brittany recited her favorite poems as Santana lay beside her, and she listened with her eyes closed and almost felt the words.

Then they joined again and Brittany murmured words of love between kisses as they wrapped their arms around one another.

They went on throughout the evening, making up for their years apart, and slept in each other's arms that night. Occasionally Brittany would wake up and look at Santana, her body spent and radiant, and feel as if everything were suddenly tight in this world.

Once, when Brittany was looking at her in the moments before daybreak, her eyes fluttered open and Santana smiled and reached up to touch her face. Brittany put her fingers to Santana`s lips, gently, to keep her from speaking, and for a long time they just looked at one another.

When the lump in Brittany`s throat subsided, she whispered to her, "You are the answer to every prayer I've offered. You are a song, a dream, a whisper, and I don't know how I could have lived without you for as long as I have. I love you, Santana, more than you can ever imagine, I always have and I always will."

"Oh, Brittany," she said, pulling her to her. She wanted Brittany, needed her now more than ever, like nothing she'd ever known.

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Next update will be up tomorrow or something like that yeah…probably tomorrow ;) OOOH OOOH OOOH I`m sorry if there was any mistakes (; hehe _**Please review!**_


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